Page 24 of Nailed

I smiled knowingly. “Not entirely. I think holding onto moments of beauty has helped me more than any checks I've earned using this thing.”

He looked as though he wanted to ask me more questions, but was unsure of whether it was okay for him to do so. Part of me found myself wanting to tell him anyway.

But he understood enough. He'd seen just that tiny extra bit of me that I never, ever exposed to anyone else. That alone felt almost overwhelming.

Fortunately, I was distracted by Callum dragging his hand through his golden hair, something he tended to do when he was deep in thought. Another stroke of inspiration.

“Hold it right there!” I readied my camera, much to Callum's shock. “Do you mind if I take another pic of you right now?” I asked sheepishly.

He nodded yes but seemed both a little flustered and confused. After, I looked at the shot and then back at his hands.

“Sorry, I know that must've been a bit weird. You just have gorgeous hands,” I said.

“What?” he grinned wider than I'd ever seen him grin, his voice cracking on the last syllable as though he was shoring back a laugh.

I laughed too, knowing how weird that probably sounded to him.

“Okay, okay, I can explain, I promise. I have a thing for hands. And no, not in a foot-fetish-adjacent way,” I said.

He gave me a look of mock suspicion and I laughed again, shaking my head.

“I swear! My brain tends to hyperfocus on contrasts; call it a photographer's itch or whatever you like. Your hands are a good example of contrasts found in nature. They're big and sturdy and clearly strong from years of doing the work that you do. They have tiny scars on them, and calluses on most of the pads of your fingers. But they're soft and capable of doing the delicate finishes on a project,” I said. “Contrasts. Here, let me take another and I'll show you how that translates in this lighting, especially.”

He was still smiling, raising his hand in the air. I scooted closer, trying to better capture his hand in the light without having to zoom in. It was only once I felt his gentle breath on my face that I realized just how close to him I'd moved.

My heart didn't hammer. It stopped altogether.

Those warm, earthy eyes held me captive and I quickly looked down, taking his hand in mine as I did.

“See?” I asked, turning it over in my palm. I swallowed hard, gently tracing the line of an old scar across his knuckles. “It's funny how something like hands can hold memories and stories. It's…a fascinating photo study.”

Callum's warmth was addictive. He didn't stop me as I continued admiring his long, strong fingers. His forehead was practically touching mine as he stared down at his own hands, a look of light astonishment on his face as though he'd never seen them before.

Electricity cracked between us but where I should’ve stopped touching him, I chose to continue. His now-familiar scent flecked with fresh sweat filled my nose, and when he shifted slightly, his hair brushed against my cheek.

I was drowning in fire, if that was even a possibility. It was certainly how I felt.

“Miss Lauren…” he whispered, looking up at me.

“Yeah?” I said.

But before he could answer, Brock's booming voice cut through the chilled atmosphere like a knife.

“Shit!” he yelled.

I dropped Callum's hand as though it had burned me, and immediately turned to Brock. He was staring at his phone screen, seething with a look of quiet rage that sent the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

“What is it?” asked Rafe.

Brock looked at me directly and my stomach sank.

“I just got word that several permits have been simultaneously rejected,” he said. His voice was brittle. “We've been told to cease all work on the firehouse, effective immediately.”

10

Lauren

The community meeting was being held in a Park District Fieldhouse. I could see the echoes of Chicagoan history-studded architecture in the building, the same sort of aesthetic that ran throughout the rest of the city—red brick and limestone, high ceilings and heavy, dark wood floors.